1. Pour me a cup, my worries melt away
Do not withhold my cup, for in withholding is sin

2. Do not give me wine less than ten years old
For even when pressed, its separation was not forgotten by the generous vine

3. Rather, an old lady, daughter of ancient kings
Aged, in whose clay wisdom has crept

4. When her pourers taste her they praise her
In their tongues with gratitude, though Arabs or foreigners

5. And two cups circulated unto me, pure
Carefully selected, this a stallion, that a bay

6. As if I hung my hand from them
And neither had a flaw for the excellent young man

7. The composer brings the goshawks gently
In his right hand is a tidbit for his goshawk

8. They are turned by a frisky, playful, dark-eyed gazelle
A sister and brother among the tribe, their name one

9. It is said to mean bliss, though if you deny it
You would one day call his sister denied bliss